The Outcast

by Louise Cooper

  ‘It’s gone,’ he said.

  The stone … ?’

  Keridil nodded. The mystery was beginning to piece itself horribly together, and as Sashka peered into the empty box he said softly, venomously, ‘Cyllan … ‘

  ‘What?’

  Briefly, he told her what Pirasyn claimed to have seen. She had never seen him so angry before, though he did his best to control the rage in him, and she made no attempt to mollify him. Rather, she thought, it would serve her purpose the better if his fury could be channelled …

  ‘Keridil,’ she said as he was about to return to the corridor, ‘Keridil, I was thinking … ‘

  ‘What is it?’ He was more curt than he had intended, but she seemed not to notice.

  ‘About Sister Erminet … she told us that the girl was safely locked away. She gave us her word on it. I think she was lying to us.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t understand you. Whyever should Sister Erminet lie?’

  ‘I don’t know. But … well, I thought I must have been mistaken, but now I’m not sure.’ And she told him of the hooded figure she had seen leaving Cyllan’s room in Erminet’s wake. As she related her story - though making no reference to the fact that she had checked the room herself - Keridil’s jaw muscles tightened and his hands clenched.

  ‘If she’s in league with them … ‘ he said at last.

  ‘It’s possible. Isn’t it possible?’

  He was struggling to be fair, not to let anger cloud his judgement, but the evidence was hard to ignore. Sashka wasn’t a liar … and Cyllan could surely not have escaped without help …

  From outside the door he heard running footsteps, and a voice calling his name. Quickly he took Sashka’s hand and led her out, in time to confront the two men he had sent to check on the girl. They were sweating and breathless, but their message was clear enough.

  ‘She’s gone sir! The room’s been left unlocked!’

  Keridil’s mouth set in a narrow line. ‘Very well.

  Organise as many searchers as you need, and make sure each one is armed. Tell them to gather in the dining-hall as soon as possible - we’ll comb the Castle from end to end until she’s found! I want the main gates guarded - oh, and set two men to watch that demonic lover of hers!

  It’s ten to one he’s behind this, and that she’ll try to reach him. Whatever else happens, she mustn’t succeed in that! Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Then get about it, quickly!’ And as they hastened away he turned to Sashka, his face grave. ‘I’m sorry that this has to ruin our celebration, love.’

  She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. The girl must be found - that’s far more important. But … what about Sister Erminet?’

  ‘Ah … yes. I wish I could be sure … ‘

  Sashka nibbled at her lower lip. ‘As yet, no one in the dining-hall knows what’s amiss, Sister Erminet included. Perhaps if, before you break the news to them, she could be - invited to repeat her assurance?’ She cast her gaze down. ‘I know it’s a devious thought, Keridil, but if we do have a viper in our midst, surely a little trickery is justified?’

  She was right; and Keridil thanked the gods for her common sense. ‘Very well. It’s a shrewd suggestion, and we’ll follow it. Though the gods know, I find it hard to credit that she should be a traitor.’

  Sashka shrugged. ‘Erminet was always unpredictable.

  At the Cot we lived in fear of her moods and fancies …

  and besides, we should remember that as well as guarding Cyllan, she’s been responsible for tending to Tarod these last days.’

  ‘You mean that she might be under his sway? I hardly think so - he’s been kept drugged; I doubt if he can control his own mind, let alone influence another’s.’

  ‘We may have underestimated him.’

  It was possible … and it could explain Erminet’s perfidy.

  ‘Well, there’s only one way to be sure,’ Keridil said.

  ‘Let’s return to our guests.’

  Their entrance was greeted with relief and a great many curious questions. Keridil soothed anxieties with the promise of a full explanation, then sought out Sister Erminet, who - suspiciously, it now seemed to him - sat alone at a table and appeared disinterested in the furore.

  ‘Sister Erminet.’ He smiled as he approached her. ‘I’m sorry to intrude on you with a medical matter, but -’

  She looked up quickly, and he thought he detected relief on her face. ‘Medical matter?’ she said. ‘Has someone been taken ill?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. It concerns one of your charges, and I’d like to clear up a little confusion.’

  ‘Ah … ‘ said Erminet warily.

  ‘The girl, Cyllan -I believe you said she was sleeping when you left her; is that correct?’

  People were gathering round them … Erminet hesitated for a moment, and it was clear she was disconcerted. ‘Did I? Perhaps so … yes, I believe she was.’

  ‘And you did take care to lock the door behind you when you left?’

  Now the old woman’s face was unhealthily pale, but she rallied herself and smiled at him.

  ‘Naturally, High Initiate. I have the key here at my waist, as always.’ She held it up, but her hand wasn’t quite steady. ‘It never leaves my person.’

  It was all Keridil needed. Leaning forward, he said softly, but ferociously. ‘Then can you explain to me, Sister, how it was that Cyllan was able to leave her locked room, and commit cold-blooded murder in this Castle not fifteen minutes ago?’

  The little colour that remained drained from Erminet’s face, leaving it the shade of dried cement. She tried to rise, but her legs wouldn’t support her, and her expression would have damned her without a word spoken.

  ‘Oh, gods … she didn’t… she couldn’t have … ‘

  She covered her mouth with one hand.

  Keridil called forward two Initiates. ‘Please conduct Sister Erminet Rowald to her room, and see that she doesn’t leave until I send for her personally.’ And to Erminet he added, ‘I believe, Sister, that you have been guilty of an act which I would have thought unthinkable for one of your calling. I hope you’ll prove me wrong, but I have very strong doubts. You’ll have your chance to speak when Cyllan Anassan has been apprehended.’

  He nodded curtly to the old woman, and signed for the Initiates to lead her away. Shocked silence fell on the hall as they passed through the crowd to the door, then Keridil picked up an empty wine jug and banged it down hard on the table to call their attention. Every face in the vast room turned towards him.

  ‘My friends,’ Keridil said, the anger still tingeing his voice, ‘I’m sorry to have to draw the evening’s festivities to a premature close, but I have a very grave announcement to make, and I would appreciate the co-operation of every able-bodied man and woman here tonight.’

  Beside him Sashka sank on to a convenient chair, her eyes cast down, and the faintest of smiles on her face.

  *****

  She was lost. Her terrified, headlong flight from the scene of the grisly encounter with Drachea had taken her deep into an unlit and remote part of the Castle, where only endless black walls and silence confronted her. Blind instinct had led her down twisting flights of stairs and along narrow passages, until at last she was certain that her pursuers - if pursuit there had been - were left far behind. Then she stumbled to a halt, and collapsed exhausted to the cold stone floor.

  Slowly the broken fragments of what had happened were beginning to form a coherent recollection, as the blankness of stark fear was succeeded by a peculiar calm. She had killed Drachea. In dark moments as she sat alone in her locked room she had often craved the chance to take vengeance on him, and her imagination had run riot. Now the fantasy had become reality, and the reality was bloody and ugly and shocking. Yet she couldn’t feel remorse … her hatred of Drachea was too strong, the desire for retribution too great.

  With an inward shiver she remembered the Chaos stone coming to life in her hand, the blazin
g glare of cold light that had transfixed Drachea where he stood. The stone had given her the opportunity she needed to strike - and it had also fed on her hatred, focusing it into a lust for destruction and mayhem that had eclipsed her reason and turned her into a savage assassin. The stone was quiescent now, nestling in her left hand. Her fingers ached from gripping it, and she had to prize them open in order to look at the gem where it lay in her palm. It seemed nothing more than a simple jewel, yet her flesh tingled as she felt an echo of the sensations it had awoken in her. She was beginning to understand Tarod’s ambiguous feelings, part loathing and part need, towards it … he was right; it was a deadly gem. And now she realised why Yandros had agreed to aid her.

  Quickly, half afraid that the stone might affect her further if she continued to hold it, she thrust the jewel into the bodice of her dress. Her hand came away smeared with crimson, and she realised that she was spattered from head to foot with Drachea’s blood. The sight of it brought a lurch of physical revulsion and for a moment she thought she would be sick; but the spasm passed as cold logic took over once more.

  What was done was done, and right or wrong she didn’t regret it. Drachea was dead - no one could survive such a savage attack - and she had kept her freedom, at least for the moment. But the hunt would already be up, and the chances were that her identity was known. She couldn’t hope to evade capture for long while she remained in the Castle confines, and once she was caught there would be no second chance, and no reprieve this time. She would die, hanged or more likely beheaded, and Tarod would die too.

  She had to reach him. She had to give him the Chaos stone, and plead with him to use it, if necessary, to save them both. Without his strength and power to aid them, the net would close and they’d be lost; they needed the stone, however deadly it might be.

  Unsteadily Cyllan got to her feet, smoothing down her dress and ignoring the stains. The knife she tucked in her sleeve, unwilling to relinquish it lest she should need it again. Luck — and Yandros - had been with her once, but she dared not rely on them a second time. If she could keep to the Castle’s unpopulated corridors until she found her way to the cellars where Tarod was imprisoned, well and good - but she would kill again if she had to, to reach her goal.

  She pulled the hood of the short cloak up over her hair once more, and set off along the passage.

  Cyllan had no way of telling how much time had passed before, at long last, she reached a place where steep stairs led down into the Castle’s foundations, and knew she was close to her goal. From Sister Erminet’s instruction she recognised the way to the storage cellars and began to hasten down the flight, until a sudden uneasy intuition made her pause. It might have been imagination, or a deceptive echo from somewhere, but she fancied she’d heard a sound from below, as though a foot had shuffled on stone. Holding her breath, and thankful for the dark clothes which helped her to merge with the shadows, she advanced a cautious pace, then another, until she reached the foot of the stairs. Here a narrow tunnel crossed her path, and, flattening herself against the dank wall, she peered round, holding the cloak hood close against her cheek.

  Tarod was in the third cellar along, so Sister Erminet had said. And there, outside that very door, were two men. One leaned against the wall, hissing softly through his teeth while he whittled at a small piece of wood with the blade of a vicious-looking knife; the other sat gazing at the tunnel roof, seemingly lost in his private thoughts.

  But their apparent lack of attention was belied by the long-bladed, powerful sword that each bore at his hip.

  They had been set to guard the cell, and Cyllan knew that she had no hope of avoiding them should she try to reach Tarod.

  Slowly and quietly she withdrew back into the darkness, her mouth dry with fear and anger. She was too late - the hunt was up for her, and she should have known that Keridil’s first action would be to set a guard on Tarod’s cell. They must by now have discovered that the Chaos stone was missing, and that would be enough to redouble their efforts to find her. Silently she cursed herself-by losing her way she had wasted precious time, and the High Initiate had thwarted her. Despair tied her stomach in knots of fury and frustration - she had to get word to Tarod somehow, let him know that she was free, for until he could be certain, he’d do nothing that might jeopardise her. But the chance was lost. She couldn’t even reach one of the storerooms and hide there in the hope that the guard might change and Tarod be left unattended for a few minutes; the instant she stepped out from the stairs she’d be seen and apprehended. And she couldn’t remain here, indecisive - she was too exposed; all it would take was one man to start down the stairs from above and she’d be trapped. And after what had happened to Drachea, they’d probably run her through without a second thought …

  Wraithlike, she turned and crept away up the stairs, back in the direction from which she’d come. Her mind was gnawing frantically at her predicament, but she could see no possible answer. Yet she had to find a way-she had to …

  A small shape moved across her path and she started violently, biting her tongue and almost losing her footing on the steep flight. The shape, too, paused, then raised its head and uttered a soft, querying cry. Cyllan’s thundering pulse slowed as she recognised it for one of the telepathic cats that inhabited the Castle. She had already encountered two on her way here, felt their tentative probing into her mind. Their telepathy was a little like that of the aquatic fanaani, though of a lower order, and as she was about to move on past the creature Cyllan felt the delicate strands of its thoughts penetrating and mingling with her own. She hesitated - and suddenly, in her inner vision, she saw a blurred image of Sister Erminet’s face. The cat mewed, urgency in its tone …

  ‘What is it, little one?’ Cyllan whispered, afraid that the echoes of her voice might carry to the tunnel below.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

  She had bent down, and the cat reared on its hind legs, crying again. Cyllan’s heart started to pound and she crouched, trying to steady her thoughts and open her mind to the creature’s attempts to communicate.

  ‘Tell me, little one, ‘she said softly.‘I’m listening …’

  The Imp, Sister Erminet’s adopted pet, knew that it had found the one it was seeking. It had left the old woman’s room by its usual route, through the window and along a dizzying maze of incredibly narrow ledges to the ground, then, following instructions which it only barely comprehended, had headed for the cellars.

  It was only the fact that the cat liked the Castle’s underground rooms with their plethora of unexplored crannies and fascinating scents that had persuaded it to carry out the mission with which it had been entrusted - that, and the unmistakable urgency in its human friend’s attempts to communicate. It had been curled asleep on her bed when she returned, and had resented being disturbed. But a combination of determination and blandishment had won through, and the cat’s curiosity was aroused. The old woman wanted it to find someone, and the creature’s mind formed a picture of another human, coloured grey and pale yellow, and of amber-hued eyes that were just a little like its own. And the cellars … it liked the cellars. And so when finally the old woman had refused to feed it, and refused to speak to it any more, it had reluctantly padded across the room, sprung up to the window-ledge, and slipped away into the night.

  Now, it had found the object of its search, and immediately it sensed a mind with which it could communicate far more easily than it had ever done with Sister Erminet. And that mind needed help of a kind which, the cat understood smugly, it alone could give. A hand reached out towards it, stroking its hard little head, and the human began to project an image of someone the cat knew …

  Cyllan didn’t comprehend the cat’s connection with Sister Erminet, but she understood enough of its nature to grasp at this slender hope as a drowning man might clutch a driftwood spar. She couldn’t reach Tarod - but the animal could. No one would think to stop a cat if it passed by on some secret exploration. And if she could ma
ke it understand the message she wanted it to convey, and persuade it to find its way to Tarod, there was a chance - more than a chance, she prayed fervently - that Tarod would pick up enough of that message from the creature’s strange, capricious mind to realise what was afoot.

  She dropped to her knees and gazed into the cat’s eyes, opening her thoughts to its mental scrutiny. It was curious; that was a good beginning. She projected an image of Tarod’s face and saw its whiskers twitch with interest, then tried, though whether the cat could understand such human concepts she didn’t know, to ingrain in it the idea that she was free.

  ‘Tell him … ‘ She mouthed the words silently to reinforce her urgent thoughts. Tell him, little one. I am free. I am free!’

  The Imp closed and opened its brilliant eyes in a long, slow blink. If the gesture meant anything, Cyllan couldn’t interpret it. Then it uttered its peculiar little cry again, tail flicking - and before Cyllan could stop it or speak to it again it had turned and loped away, melting into the darkness, and was gone.

  She sat back against the wall, not knowing what to think. She couldn’t judge whether the cat had understood the message she had tried to instil into its mind; and if it had, whether it would choose to convey it or, with the perversity of its kind, would be distracted by some new interest and forget its mission. But she silently thanked Sister Erminet for her ingenuity and kindness in sending the creature to her. It was a slender chance, but it might succeed … and it was all the more imperative that she should find a hiding place where she would be safe until she knew whether the cat had reached Tarod with its message. If it did, he would find her. Somehow, he would find her …

  The stairway was silent, the deep shadows still. Cyllan rose to her feet and began to climb again, alert for the smallest sound or sign of movement. If she could find a sanctuary before dawn broke she could wait in safety, at least for a while, and soon enough she would know. The waiting would be torment … but now, at least, the spark of hope had been rekindled.